


Corrupted Cake

by evilmouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Academy Trilogy - Kevin J. Anderson, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Feels, Aphrodisiacs, Cake, Confessions, F/M, First Time, Floor Sex, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hot Chocolate, Kitchen Sex, Let Mara Eat Cake meaning Luke, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sex Pollen, The Force, ancient races ship it, because sex pollen, sexy baking, you know they want it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse
Summary: Mara interrupts Luke as he's baking a cake for his sister and brother-in-law.He probably should have done a little more research about the weird ingredients this ancient recipe requires...





	1. Corrupted Cake

**Author's Note:**

> A Valentine's Day gift to my L/M fandom friends. Thanks to frangipani for her beta awesomeness and to the sex pollen writers who went before and inspired me.
> 
> Credit for the random title goes to my nephew who asked me to write a recipe for Star Wars "Corrupted Cake Batter." I did, but he will _never_ know how far my brain ran with that concept.

As Mara turned the corner and entered the kitchen on level two of the Jedi Temple, she forgot completely why she had come in the first place.

Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master, was standing there looking adorable, no, she stopped that thought dead in its tracks, not adorable, looking ridiculous, yes, that was better, covered in what looked like flour and some random stains that were reminiscent of a painter’s studio or butcher shop, she couldn’t decide which. But the smell wafting through the air and into the hallway was definitely indicative of something edible, delicious, and probably cavity-causing. 

“Mara!” As usual, Luke looked happy to see her. She was never interrupting, never unwelcome, never had bad timing when it came to him. She wondered idly what his face would look like twisted with annoyance and couldn’t come up with anything.

“Skywalker.” It was a flat acknowledgement, and Mara was proud at the bored tone she’d managed to summon despite the amusement she was still stifling at his appearance. “Bad time?”

He stepped aside, shaking his head, sandy hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back over his forehead, resulting in a smudge of something white appearing over his left eyebrow. 

“Come on in, I can talk and cook at the same time.” 

He looked at ease in the kitchen, and why shouldn’t he? It was a seasonal break, most of the students departed to visit family, or gone off moon if they had the credits, to take a break from their Jedi instruction. Mara wasn’t sure why she had stayed, but supposed in some place deep down she’d thought it would be an opportunity to catch up on her training, to take advantage of the fact that Luke wouldn’t be distracted with other students and could focus on her for a while…

Her sweeping gaze took in the mess of the kitchen. “You call this cooking?”

Luke had already turned back to his bowls and jars, and glanced over his shoulder, smiling – no, beaming—at her. “Well, I suppose technically it’s baking,” he offered, before returning blue eyes to the countertop and reaching for a bag of something unidentifiable and dumping it into a measuring cup.

Mara watched silently, trying again to remember the reason she’d wanted to track him down. But she was distracted by powder in the air and the grainy bluish dust that had settled along the Jedi master’s black clothing as if its goal in life was to outline his musculature. It was decidedly…

“And sure, it counts as cooking,” Luke said easily, facing her once more and thankfully cutting off whatever confusing and indecent thought had been about to invade her brain. He leaned against the cluttered counter and crossed his arms. “I’m making something for Han and Leia…it’s their wedding anniversary next week and the plan is to send this to them…” he shrugged, looking more boyish than usual, “what do you get the couple that has everything?”

“Indigestion?” she asked, no real venom in the question, allowing herself a small smile. “What in the galaxy are you _making,_ Skywalker?”

His eyes glinted with real delight, and he picked up an extremely old looking text off a wire stand, where she hadn’t noticed it resting, and offered it to her. Mara accepted it with skepticism, eyes finding the words hard to resolve on the faded page.

_Corrupted Cake—Killik Bonding Recipe_

“Corrupted Cake? Sounds disgusting.” Her tone emphasized the adjectives.

“No!” Luke snatched the book back, whether genuinely or mock defensive she wasn’t sure. “It’s an old Alderaan recipe, has nothing to do with rotten anything. The original sentients on the planet apparently had a really complex society…and were known for uh…” He looked nervous suddenly, trailed off, as if he no longer wished to share the history.

“Out with it, then, known for what?” she asked.

“Reproductive…uh…prowess.” Luke coughed, turning back to the counter and picking up a spoon. “So this is a traditional cake to make for couples on weddings and anniversaries.”

Mara bit her lip, wanting to tease him, since he was so obviously uncomfortable about this whole thing. “Weren’t the Killiks like…bugs, Skywalker? Not exactly romantic.”

“That’s not the point,” Luke muttered, a little blush appearing on his neck, looking down at his bowl and stirring whatever was in there with a ferocity. Mara couldn’t help it, laughing out loud at his discomfort

“All right,” she smiled, unable to give him too much grief. It was a different sort of anniversary gift, she supposed, and it was the thought that counted, wasn’t that how the saying went, anyway? “Very nice, Farmboy. I’m sure your sister will appreciate the sentiment.”

Luke stopped stirring a moment, looked briefly over his shoulder again as if to gauge her sincerity. He was still embarrassed, red tipping his ears, but recovering, obviously assuaged by her words. 

“I hope so,” he finally said, as if he had convinced himself that Mara wasn’t going to laugh at him anymore. “It wasn’t easy to get these ingredients.” His smile got a little toothier. “And I have no idea how it’s going to taste…but…”

He returned to the recipe, looking with a critical eye at a measuring spoon as if he didn’t trust it. Mara was silent, watching him openly go about the task, enjoying this bizarre and unexpected view of Luke. A minute later, he seemed to remember she was there.

Luke cleared his throat, and Mara expected he would ask her why she had come, but instead…

“Wanna help?”

The question was entirely unexpected, and Mara felt a bit rattled. She didn’t cook. Or bake. Or anything. She ate ration bars, or ordered take out. That was pretty much the limit of her culinary acumen.

“Only if you want to have this cake live up to its name in the worst possible way,” she replied, standing next to Luke at the counter and glancing down to the brittle page of the ancient recipe.

She hadn’t realized how near she was to him, so when Luke turned and looked at her, they were far, far too close. Inches. Mara took a step further away, her hand creeping down the counter behind her.

“You should learn to cook sometime.” Luke grinned, as if he’d read her mind. “And this way you can take credit for the gift, too.”

That was an even more preposterous idea, Mara thought, and set her jaw as she tried to not think about wiping away that smudge of flour over his eyebrow. “I hardly think the Solos are expecting an anniversary present from me,” she retorted. 

“All right,” Luke said, completely unfazed, handing her a small bowl that she took automatically, then immediately regretted it. “Then just give me a hand.” He pointed to a small bottle next to her elbow. “That’s Kessinnamon. Can you mix it with the Geejaw eggs there?” He held out a small whisk, which Mara also took reflexively, holding it between her thumb and index finger as if it were an exotic weapon. 

Geejaw eggs? Why the hell would an Alderaanian recipe call for these off-world ingredients? Mara wanted to protest but instead decided to focus on something besides Skywalker’s charming grin, and turned her attention to the flavoring he’d indicated. Sighing with an air of martyrdom, Mara set down the bowl and whisk and rolled up her sleeves. She could feel his contentment like a wave undulating through the air.

She stirred sloppily, checking the thin, parchment page to see how much Kessinnamon to add, and then did as he asked. Luke, in the meantime, had reached for a tiny packet of something that had no visible label, and tossed its contents into his larger bowl, rotating the mass with a spatula. Mara read further on the page.

“There’s a lot of alcohol in this recipe,” she remarked, trying to cover for the fact that she was still wondering how he’d roped her into whisking eggs. This was not why she was here. True, she didn’t really remember why she was here, but, still…

Luke nodded. “Yeah, I thought that too, the Corellian whiskey and Sunberry wine, but I figure the whiskey is probably like…for flavor and wine maybe for color…” He looked at her as if he needed to explain. “Should make it pink.”

“How disgustingly romantic,” she sneered, handing back her bowl. That was mixed well enough. She was done with this exercise, Mara thought, turning to go.

“Thanks,” Luke said, clearly anticipating her departure. “Can you just hand me that—” He tilted his chin to indicate a small vial leaning up between the caf machine and the wall. Mara obliged, and suddenly a puff of flour dusted up, making her feel choked, and she was seized by a fit of sneezing. The vial between her fingers, already oily and slippery, fell to the floor, shattering into scores of crystallized pieces.

“Oh kriff, I’m sorry,” she managed, bending down and trying to sweep up the shards with the edges of her palms. Luke also crouched to the floor, wiping his hands on his knees (making a bigger mess of his clothes, Mara thought, with something like indulgence), and starting to help clean up.

Almost instantly, she could sense something was amiss. Mara’s fingers had not much more than grazed the glass and powder on the floor when her whole body felt electrified, energized, like a jolt of lightning had lanced from her fingertips straight to her groin.

“Luke…” Mara’s eyes lifted from the fragments and dust, met his gaze, so warm, so close to her face. His features were bright, and beautiful…she tried to look away and couldn’t. “What…what was this stuff?”

Whatever she was feeling, he seemed to be suffering from a similar effect. Luke’s fingers swept lazily through the powder on the floor, leaving thick lines against the tile, absent, forgetting their task, blue eyes locked to hers.

“…powdered Zeltron herb.” His voice was a husky whisper but she felt each syllable like a spike in her chest.

Mara could hardly speak, her eyes riveted to Luke’s mouth, suddenly fascinated by the fact that his lower lip was slightly bigger than the upper.

“Zeltron…herb?”

Her voice sounded strange. Everything was tunneling, her awareness bound and reduced. There was a very sharp, very clear pinhole of focus, and it involved the man squatting on the floor across from her. Nothing else.

“Yes.”

There was a tension to the word, Luke’s distinctive voice colored by something else, and Mara felt her chest tighten and stomach flutter. He was so incredibly handsome, how had she never let herself admit it before? The slight bend in his nose, the little furrow of his brow, the line of his jaw…

“Luke…”

She couldn’t say anything else, feeling a compulsion that she knew she had to resist. This didn’t make any sense. But he was there and he was so very close and there was that silly smudge on his face and he was looking at her with an intensity that made her almost giddy. 

It wasn’t a comfortable feeling; it wasn’t a familiar feeling. But it was a good feeling, very good, and Mara found herself wanting to follow it, figure out where the impulse would take her. Take them.

Her fingers crossed the short distance and wiped away the smudge of whatever had been shadowing Luke’s eyebrow. His skin felt rough and real and heated. Before she could pull back, his hand had clasped hers. Their eyes held, fingers rubbing together, the powdery residue of the ingredient she’d ruined coating their skin.

And suddenly they couldn’t say anything else. Mara’s other hand had latched on to Luke’s lapel, her lips lunging for his, and his arms were around her, pulling her on top of him, and they dissolved on the floor in a tangle of limbs and tongues. 

He tasted like sugar and sunlight, Mara thought inanely, even as she clutched him closer and they rolled onto their sides. Why hadn’t they done this before? Why were they doing it now?

The mental query briefly broke through the haze and Mara pulled back, lips leaving Luke’s for an infinitesimal moment. But that separation was already too long, and she no longer wished to try to speak or explain or question. They had to stay connected, that was the important thing. Her brain was quiet after that, everything centered in her chest, her stomach, her lips, her groin. This…this felt warm and somehow justified.

Luke, however, seemed to gain a modicum of control, if only for a second, his hands grasping her shoulders as if to restrain her, his lips moving against hers, trying to form words even as she continued pressing her mouth to his.

“Mara…this…I think…”

She pushed her tongue against his, enjoying the wet, the heat of his mouth. The feel of his teeth, his lips was so right…everything about this was so perfect…

“Mara…” His hands tightened, even as he continued to kiss her. “I think…the herb…”

The herb? Mara shook her head at him, uncaring, hands threading through his hair, drawing a soft groan from Luke’s throat. And she liked that sound, liked it very much, so she tugged a little harder, feeling the pull of his scalp, the tension in his neck. She definitely was enjoying his reaction to her, and used her weight to push him onto his back. 

Luke didn’t resist, his hands dipping beneath her shirt, climbing up her ribs. When he settled on her breasts, she sighed, bending over him and licking along his throat. He tasted so delicious, candied flour on his skin, like a cupcake, she thought, recognizing the comparison was stupid and not caring. 

On some level, Mara understood this was happening too quickly, unnaturally, but on another, she didn’t care at all. It was too good, and it had been so long since she’d felt like this. In fact, she’d never felt quite like this, she had to admit, arching her back and letting her fingers leave the softness of his hair just long enough to pull off her blouse.

Luke’s eyes widened, and Mara decided that was also a nice look on him. Surprised, but in a welcoming, admiring way. She reached for his shirt, working the clasps of it, wondering why he hadn’t tried to put on something normal or civilian, at least, to undertake baking duties. Luke helped, his fingers following, guiding hers as the Jedi outfit came undone.

When his chest was exposed, Mara took a moment to appreciate him with her eyes, straddling him, thighs tight against his hips, enjoying the feel of his erection between her legs. He was tan…the jungle had sun-struck him a delectable bronze. Mara leaned down, welcoming the renewed pressure of his fingers against her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples, and licked a wide and exploring path over the planes of his chest—from his sternum to his somehow perfect collarbones, then up to the arc of his neck and ending at the oval of his right ear. Luke pushed up, ever so slightly, his hands travelling around her back, and she ground down against his hardness. They still had too many clothes on.

“Fuck, Skywalker,” she moaned in exasperation, trying to undo his pants. His fingers were at her waist as well, fighting with the zipper. Mara hoped he understood her meaning. It was a verb, that expletive, not an exclamation. A command. She wanted him inside her.

He cupped her face far too gently with one hand, and Mara turned her head to his palm, licking the center, tasting…tasting that thing she’d dropped. It was like a kick in her stomach, the flavor, and she was consumed by this aching pressure between her legs, her breath coming short and rough. It hurt, to be empty like this, to be so close and not enveloping him. Mara lowered her head again, licking Luke’s lips, letting him taste the herb on her tongue.

It had the desired effect, as his entire body seemed to suddenly match the rigidness of his cock. Luke crushed her to him, fierce, almost violent. Mara sealed her lips to his, arms sliding around his torso as they rolled about on the floor, finally resolving with him above her, a much better position for what she wanted, the idea garnering clear approval in her mind.

Here, it was easier to slide his flour-dusted pants down his thighs. Here, it was easier for her to lift her hips to rid herself of all that material serving as a barrier between them. Their mouths stayed together, breathing as one, as if taking air separately would be the same as inhaling toxic gas. They had to be joined—she needed to be as close as possible, wanting every part of him touching every part of her.

Mara couldn’t think straight, but what she could do was feel—and sense. She felt the strength of Luke’s arms, the biceps unyielding and firm around her, she felt the urgency of his lips, the way his mouth opened to her like it was a gateway to something powerful and real. She felt his hip bones, pushing against her, his weight reassuring and secure on top of her. He wasn’t propped up—as if Luke had received the same signals she had—no space between them. Skin against skin, heated flesh meeting, blood racing in synchrony, everything linked and close, so close. But she needed to be closer. 

Mara slid her hands down Luke’s back, clutching his ass, spreading her legs and looping her feet over the back of his knees. They were still kissing, so words weren’t really an option, but she felt something, a tickle in her head, her name…his mental voice…

_Mara…_

She thought it might be a question, and he was an idiot if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Yes,” she managed to gasp, and then he entered her, hard and deep. She tensed, relaxed, felt like she was complete for the first time in her life as Luke slid inside her and stayed there, still, for a long, perfect moment.

It was everything she wanted, she thought dumbly, unable to move. It was unlike any sex she’d ever had. He belonged inside her, and that was the best place for him to be. To stay. Luke seemed to sense the same thing, and he kissed her deeply and slowly, filling her, content in the consummation without asking for anything else. Mara felt herself slip, fighting something in her chest, a strange contraction of her lungs and heart, and she pulled away from his lips. This emotion wasn’t what they had started with—it had turned more complicated, more layered. 

She looked frantically to the side. Yes, there was still some of that herb, that powder, on the floor. Quickly she wiped up some with her index and middle fingers, rubbed it on her gums, shoved her fingers between Luke’s lips. He sucked, he licked, eyes never leaving her face. And then, still with her fingers in his mouth, he started to move inside her.

It felt beyond amazing, but that word, and any of its synonyms, were lost to Mara in the moment. She couldn’t put anything as crude as language to the sensations he was eliciting from her. Her slickness was perfectly balanced with a sweet friction. Luke stretched her just beyond her limits but not enough to hurt, and the view…Mara lifted her neck, back curved slightly to follow Luke’s movement as their bodies came apart and joined. It was mesmerizing, and when she looked up at his face, she saw he was watching her watch him fuck her. There was nothing questioning or uncertain in his expression; however this has started, they were now beyond themselves. Mara shuddered, closing her eyes against him, against the elation scissoring through her nerves. His lips touched hers again, something transformative and frightening in the shared fragility of the kiss, and she came. 

The orgasm was a total surprise, appearing from nowhere and seizing her with a merciless possession that shook her inside and out. Luke kissed her harder, swallowing her cries as she pulled him down again, trying to keep him connected, unwilling to surrender an inch of him, holding him in her arms.

He wrapped himself around her, arms crossed behind her arched back, and breathed her kisses like oxygen. Slowly, sweetly, he started to move faster inside her, the thrusts never furious, but dragging in and out with something like certainty. Mara felt like she could feel each ridge of him, each vein in his cock as he pushed deeper and deeper. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her hands urging him on, wanting him, needing him to come inside her. 

_I want him forever._

Like a spark, the realization ignited something inside her, but it wasn’t passion, it was lucidity. That thought had been as crazy as it’d been uncontrollable. Mara suddenly, horribly, came back to herself, just as Luke swelled and came throbbing inside her with a wonderful, terrifying intensity. Her grasping hands turned into fists against his hips, her eyes squeezed shut. His lips left hers quickly, Luke immediately sensing her tension. She lay motionless, waiting for him to get off her, the sick feeling in her chest pulsing, unrelenting. What had happened? What had she been thinking? 

When he pulled out, Mara felt bereft, empty. And somehow angry, but whether at herself or Luke she wasn’t sure. It made no sense. She hadn’t wanted this…But she had. It had been…something else.

Luke, thankfully, said nothing, obviously, to Mara’s snap interpretation, feeling regret at what had transpired. She still lay with her eyes shut, trying to decide how to react, how to move on from whatever had just happened. She felt him, a calm presence, a weight to her left, and finally forced herself to open her eyes.

Luke was sitting sideways, his knees drawn up, shielding his crotch, but nothing else. She tried not to notice his muscles, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin. He was holding her underwear in one hand. When he saw her eyes rest on his fingers, he offered them, wordlessly. Mara sat up, took the flimsy garments, careful not to touch him, and stood, quickly getting decent. She wondered if he had stayed naked to make her less self-conscious, and decided that’s just the sort of thing that the Jedi Master would do. Of course it had been deliberate. Once she’d found her shirt, Luke stood and dressed himself. 

Neither of them spoke as they finished putting on the discarded clothing, and it was starting to grate on her. Whatever the fuck that had been, he could at least acknowledge it. Unless he wanted to forget it ever happened, which was of course a likely possibility. Mara realized she was trembling and managed to bring her breathing, and then her body, under control, involuntarily looking at the floor to avoid the powdery stain that still rested near the counter where she’d dropped the Zeltron herb. She took a step away, eyes fixed to the spot.

As if that was his cue, Luke made a small noise, about to speak. Mara held her breath. If he apologized, if he tried to erase it, she wasn’t sure if that was preferable to the alternative, like he might try to act like it actually _meant_ something.

She dragged her eyes to meet his, hoping the flashing light within was a challenge, not a question. Whatever Luke read there, it seemed to put him at ease, and his mouth tilted up at the side, as if not sure of its proper place.

“So, that ingredient was an aphrodisiac,” he stated, as if nothing unusual had just occurred.

Silence. A beat. 

Then Mara felt herself returning his hesitant, awkward smile. “You _think,_ Skywalker?!” There was no malice in it, her normal teasing tone not letting her down, and her smile broadened into a grin, the awful knot in her chest loosening, muscles unwinding from a tension she hadn’t known she was harboring.

Luke returned the grin, running a hand through his hair, and shrugged. “Cake will be fine without it…probably.” 

Mara tried not to think about how soft that hair had felt between her fingers. 

“It’s the thought that counts,” she finally said, remembering her earlier evaluation of his baking skills. But as the words escaped her lips, she remembered _his_ thought…her name…and her thought…about him. She’d heard his thought. Had he heard hers? Mara felt a surge of something too pure to resist threaten her composure, and managed a quick nod before fleeing his presence.

Luke watched her go, staying still for a long, contemplative moment.

“I hope so,” he whispered, and then turned back to the recipe.


	2. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara and Luke try to move beyond the Corrupted Cake incident, but are going about it (and thinking about it) differently.

Mara did an admirable job of keeping her mind relatively blank for the rest of the day. She found herself outside, breathing deeply in the thick, dense air. The humidity of Yavin IV was familiar, centering, and she locked her eyes on the green riot of jungle edging the training grounds. 

The damp atmosphere, heavy and oppressive against her already heated skin, felt stabilizing. A long, drawn-out inhalation helped. Mara mentally followed the molecules of oxygen as they slid down her throat, to the chambers of her lungs, nourishing the blood running through her veins. A meditative calm settled over her, as welcome as it was surprising. 

When the sky began to darken and the night biting bugs awoke, Mara walked back slowly to her small room, turning on every light inside.

Sitting on the utilitarian bed, Mara stared at the room’s stone wall, counting her breaths. She worked to maintain the focus she’d discovered outside, but it started slipping as she stood up and headed to the fresher. She undressed strangely, averting her eyes from her own skin, avoiding any visual evidence of what had occurred between her and Skywalker. The clothes were discarded at lightning speed, memories too recent and too confusing threatening to resurface.

Under the warm water, Mara wished she could scrub the inside of her brain the way she scrubbed the rest of her body. Once she made the mistake of closing her eyes as the spray rained down, and almost lost her balance as a dizzying twist in her stomach made her snap them violently open. 

Closed eyes made it too easy to see him beneath her, to remember the texture of his hair in her hands and the smoothness of his cock between her legs. The shower’s narrow dimensions turned her claustrophobic, reminders of Luke now piling up in the small space. How his strong fingers welcomed the weight of her breasts, how the muscles in his lean thighs flexed as his hips descended, so inexorable and absolute. 

Forget likely, it didn’t seem possible. The sense of completeness with Luke had been beyond anything she’d ever imagined, accompanied by that inarguable sense of rightness. 

Mara wrenched her mind from the reverie. It had been a drug. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t destined—it was _manufactured_. She was wasting her time thinking about Skywalker and the mess he’d gotten them into.

The scrubbing helped. The idea that she was washing away whatever had happened persisted, but it wasn’t comforting or reassuring as it should have been. There was a tightness in her throat as her lathered hands moved over her hips, between her thighs. Angry at her total failure to maintain the calm she’d carefully assembled outside, Mara leaned against the stall, letting out a curse.

She wouldn’t avoid him. She wouldn’t leave. She’d come here for instruction, and maybe that wasn’t possible anymore, but she refused to be the weak one and run away. 

Skywalker had acted like it was no big deal, hadn’t he? And maybe it wasn’t. If the Jedi Master wasn’t going to agonize over a Zeltron-induced fuck on the floor, why the hell should she? It was surprising, she supposed, that he had taken it in stride. She would have expected him to be more awkward about it, but he wasn’t.

Enough. Mara wasn’t going to dwell on it. She’d fucked him. He’d fucked her. They’d fucked each other. Whatever. It was a fluke, done with, over, just forget it. She should be grateful he’d been so damn normal about the whole thing. Hadn’t apologized or gotten all maudlin about it…

Shit. She was still thinking about it. This had to stop. She had to sleep.

Using Jedi meditation techniques to clear her thoughts of another Jedi was somehow ironic, but it worked. And when sleep finally arrived, its visit was dreamless. Thank the Force.

~~

The following day, she ran into Luke. Mara noticed her brain was making a mental shift regarding his name, and she fought back. Skywalker. Not Luke. Distance. Habit. 

Maybe he had sought her out, she had no way of knowing. He treated her completely normally, as if nothing had happened. That was what she’d wanted, right?

Without staying too long, he’d just asked her some mundane pleasantries, typical Farmboy conversation, and then mentioned he was planning on checking on a woolamander colony that afternoon. He didn’t invite her, didn’t not invite her, just threw it out there, took his leave.

Maybe that was the worst part.

She wanted training, didn’t she? But he wasn’t offering. And she wasn’t asking.

~~

The next morning, there was a soft tap at her door. Mara had been thinking about prepping her ship, returning to Karrde. She wanted to, she told herself, although she wasn’t sure if that was even true.

“Good morning.”

Skywalker was dressed in something different…not his black Jedi outfit, not robes, decidedly civilian looking. Dark blue pants, white t-shirt. He looked comfortable, and Mara felt even less comfortable at the sight. He was so damn _tan._

“Good morning,” she returned, wary.

“I was using the remotes this morning, in the courtyard, but…” His mouth tilted up, a fleeting expression that straightened quickly. But his eyes sparkled. “Thought maybe you’d have some time to spar?”

“Training sabers?”

He shrugged. “I was thinking regular, but up to you.” Luke nodded towards the hilt clipped to her waist. “Haven’t had a lot of practice lately.”

“That’s probably a good thing, Skywalker.”

His smile returned, wider. “I’m not complaining, _Jade,_ ” he emphasized her name, teasing, “just don’t want to get rusty.”

She stood up, trying not to think about how damn handsome he looked. Since that kriffing herb, she’d been unable to inoculate herself to it. Wondered how she ever had, actually.

“Fine. Meet you there in ten.”

~~

A half hour later, Mara felt normal for the first time in days. Skywalker _was_ rusty, and it showed, she thought, feeling triumphant as she pulled back from a lunge that had easily passed his defense. Rare to find a weakness in his form.

“ _You're_ not out of practice,” he panted, acknowledging her point. 

Skywalker already looked like he was ready for a break, sweat darkening the white of his tight shirt in a far too enticing line down its center.

“Can’t afford to be,” she retorted, raising her blade again and charging. He parried two-handed, back in defensive mode, and she grinned. “Teaching isn’t the same as doing, you know.”

“I know,” Luke admitted, and then took a step back, turning off his lightsaber and Force pulling two wooden staffs over, tossing one to her. “Since you’re kicking my ass anyway…”

Mara raised an eyebrow, but Luke nodded. “Don’t pull punches. Let’s make it interesting.”

 _That_ she could get behind. “All right.” He really was asking for it. She smiled.

On any typical day, they wouldn’t have been as well-matched; Skywalker clearly was superior in skill and technique. But he was also tired, and Mara was energized, enjoying the aggressive outlet. Removing the lethal component allowed them both to play around more with the Force in general, and it was liberating to jump and flip and simply let loose as the sun rose higher in the sky. 

“One more before lunch, first to ten points?”

Mara took pity on him—he had to already be pretty bruised. “First to five, I’m hungry.”

Luke nodded. “Ataru?”

She knew he liked that style, and it suited her as well. One of the things she admired about Skywalker was his willingness to adapt, and incorporate new forms and strikes into his fighting. But Ataru was more acrobatic than most, and required energy she didn’t think the Jedi Master had at this point in the day. Tossing the staff from one hand to the other, she nodded back.

“Sure.”

Without waiting for him to prepare, Mara struck, surprised at his quick block. Had he been holding back? Luke was suddenly behind her, a swarm of short hits only missing due to her quick leap forward. He was fast though, and next to her again. Reflexively, she Force pushed him in defense, and he was on his ass on the ground a few feet away. Too embarrassed at the involuntary trick to acknowledge it, she went for his left, but Luke’s inside parry held, and he spun to her side, tapping her thigh lightly with his staff.

Cursing under her breath, Mara gritted her teeth and turned again, keeping the staff level as Luke approached from her flank. Executing a quick backwards flip, she whirled to see he was already too close, another strike about to land when she repeated the Force push, this time sending him flat on his back.

“Sorry,” she muttered. Once she could ignore, but twice was bad—showed lack of control.

Luke shook it off, standing up with a smile. “I said don’t pull punches. The Force is fair game.”

She scowled at him. “You’re not attacking with it.”

“Not yet,” he flashed a grin, almost like a dare, and raised his staff again. Maybe he wasn’t as tired as she had thought.

Testing him, she went for another push, but this time Luke felt it coming and ricocheted the Force back at her. Mara gasped, slammed to the earth and everything went white for a second.

Luke was at her side immediately, reaching to help and then seeming to think better of the physical contact as she propped herself up on one elbow, groaning.

“Ouch.” She wasn’t seriously hurt, after all, but that had been unexpected.

“Sorry,” Luke said, then he did slide an arm behind her back, supporting her up. “You’re strong.”

Mara wanted to ask what that had to do with it, then realized her own power, redirected, had taken her down. The thought was oddly pleasing.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, rubbing a hand along her neck. Felt like whiplash. “Can you show me how to do that?”

“Of course,” he answered, and she could hear the relief in his words. “After lunch.”

~~

After that, things got better between them. Not one hundred percent normal, Mara noted, maybe Luke was a little more hesitant to touch her, but he did when necessary—shifting her stance, directing a movement. Firm pressure, quick, corrective, even, and then gone. Perhaps it was the same as it had always been, and it just felt different—or she was more conscious of it now. 

She’d been unable to push the madness in the kitchen from her mind completely. But thankfully, it seemed to float beneath the surface when they were together, not appearing unless she nudged it with some inappropriate thought, usually involving Luke’s collarbones or biceps, for some reason. It was something borderline humiliating that had become part of her time with him. She had too much knowledge of him.

Other than that, though, the seasonal break became much of what she’d hoped. Luke didn’t seem to mind his own vacation being nothing of the sort, as of course he was still teaching—her and only her. He was a good teacher, and Mara didn’t mind admitting it. She felt layers of understanding develop through his instruction. Techniques that had been mainly instinct were strengthened once the power behind them was elucidated, and even the way he made her practice—rote, drills, reflex—were oddly more effective than when she set similar sessions for herself.

Two weeks were almost up, and Mara found herself wishing she could find a way to prolong it, immediately chastising herself for the thought. Luke had a whole academy of students who needed him—he was doing her a favor, and she had her real life to get back to. There wasn’t really room for her here, not now, probably not ever. But she was grateful for the training, and had made some peace with the aggravating reminders of attraction that lingered and nagged both in and absent the Jedi Master’s presence.

~~

The penultimate day of the break, Mara found Luke in the depths of the temple, shocked to see he had what looked like a baby in his arms. Upon closer inspection, she saw it was an infant woolamander, probably no more than a few weeks old.

It was sleeping, and Luke mouthed a “hi” as she approached. He set it carefully into a little box on the floor, then ushered Mara into a storeroom off the main hangar.

“What are you doing, Skywalker?”

“I found it injured the other day. Its colony abandoned it.” Luke looked as earnest as he ever did, that maddening do-gooder attitude in full swing. “I think it’s well enough to go home now, though.”

Mara was skeptical. She didn’t know much about woolamanders, but weak members of any tribe weren’t usually long for the world. He must have read the thought on her face.

“I was thinking of sneaking it into a nest, actually, hoping a mother would accept it.” Luke looked self-conscious suddenly, which meant he looked cute too, dammit. Mara gave a mental kick to her concentration. 

She sighed. He was really ridiculously optimistic. It was just as likely the woolamander mother would shove the strange baby out of her nest to its death, but she wasn’t going to mention it.

“Good luck.”

He laughed. “May the Force be with me, you mean, right?”

“Right,” she relented.

“Wanna come? Field trip?”

The look in his eyes was so similar to when he’d asked her to help with the cake, the words also familiar. It made her remember the whole thing in a rush, not that it was ever too deeply buried, unfortunately. Mara’s skin stretched hot and sensitive, her pulse loud in her ears, and she fought to control it. She was stronger than this, after all. She could handle it. So despite having no interest in his mission or inclination to spend time with him looking all hopeful and adorable, she nodded, not even realizing until she’d done so that she was going to acquiesce.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

~~

The field trip was more of a long hike, Mara thought without complaint. Luke carried the woolamander baby swaddled against his chest. It fussed every so often, but he seemed to do a good job of calming it. It affected her, this view of him, much the same way she’d found the sight of him baking weirdly nice. She’d seen him with his sister’s kids, of course, but he was extending the same level of attention and care to this furry creature in his arms. It was…bizarre. And made her feel a warm, foreign contentment in a way that she both understood and hated.

Thunder rumbled as they reached the towering Massassi tree Luke indicated as their destination. She spotted him as he climbed steadily up, ready to use her power if necessary to stabilize him. Mara had suggested using the Force to lift the woolamander into a nest, but Luke had insisted on placing it himself. She’d argued, not sure why she cared, telling him his scent would make the animal less likely to be accepted, but Luke was convinced it wouldn’t be a problem. He seemed certain, in that calm Jedi way he had, and so she let it go.

They watched from a distance as the colony returned, Mara expecting the baby to get the boot at any instant. But as the minutes ticked by, she didn’t sense any danger or fear. Luke stood next to her, both of them craning their necks towards the dense canopy of the tree.

“Can you feel it?” His voice was almost a whisper at her side, and that alone made it difficult to focus. But Mara didn’t seek immediate clarification; having Luke as a teacher had helped her think twice before asking reflexive questions. Instead, she reached out with the Force, trying to figure out what he wanted her to sense. The creatures were semi-sentient, and she could feel something…they certainly weren’t angry about the return of the baby, that much was clear. She probably needed to work on her Force empathy, she supposed.

Mara opened her mouth to speak when the heavens let loose, a torrential jungle rain crashing down on their heads. So she just nodded in reply, and Luke turned a happy smile on her, nodding back.

“Come on.” Without waiting for a response, he started back.

Cascading sheets of water quickly churned the ground into mud. Mara skipped over the surface, trying to avoid the worst of it, but Luke ducked ahead of her and started running, his legs crashing through the brush and sending brown water flying behind him. He probably had the right idea, she had to admit—it wasn’t like they were going to get back to the temple neat and clean at this point. Might as well embrace the filth.

Luke paused, waiting to see if she was following. The rain had turned his dark clothes clingy and incredibly distracting, his chest clearly defined by the thin material that seemed sucked to his skin. Mara felt like she needed to smash her head into a tree to get these preposterous thoughts out of her brain. He looked … beyond adjectives.

“You coming?” Even his voice sounded sexy, she thought angrily, and did he have to phrase the question exactly that way? She’d been doing so well… Mara took a second, looking up at the thin line of sky visible through the thick forest canopy, closing her eyes and feeling harsh rain stab the sensitive skin of the lids with little pinpricks. It helped.

Rather than reply, she ran at him, using the Force for a burst of speed to overtake his position, kicking a puddle of mud and jungle muck over his legs as she did. She heard Luke's laughter, and then he rushed to catch up. They raced through the blinding rain, using the Force to avoid obstacles and dodge (or redirect, as the case may be) the largest puddles along the way.

It was exhilarating, but when the temple was in sight and Mara slowed, she felt a dull ache in her chest, a lump in her throat. What the hell…

She didn’t wait for Luke to say anything, just tossed a quick wave at him and jogged inside to her room, leaving a dripping trail in her wake.

In her quarters, Mara stripped quickly, rubbing a towel through her thick hair. It wouldn’t dry anytime soon, and it was drafty inside the stone walls. She shivered, looking in the spartan closet for something dry to wear. There was a Jedi robe in there. Better than nothing. She wondered idly whose former room she had crashed in. They certainly hadn’t left any clues but this archaic indication of status. Putting her arms through the sleeves, Mara sighed. It was warm. Rough material, but finely-woven. She felt the chill dissipate further. Caf. She could get a caf.

Stealthily, she crept down the hallway past Luke’s room. Mara refused to check to see if he was inside, afraid any tentative brush would be felt by the Jedi. She moved down the stairs without making a sound in her bare feet, feeling peculiar in the borrowed robe and thankful the other students hadn’t returned yet. No chance of being seen in something this embarrassing. 

Down to the second floor, to the kitchen she’d been avoiding since the second day of her trip. 

And Luke was there. Of course he was, turning around to see her, calm mask slipping momentarily as he took in her outfit. Two mugs in his hands.

Mara stifled the erupting panic. She probably looked ridiculous, true, but Luke also had put on his Jedi robe, so there was that, at least. He shouldn’t mock, dressed the same way. 

Neither of them said anything for a moment. _Back at the scene of the crime,_ Mara thought, annoyed at herself for myriad reasons. Her eyes drifted of their own volition to the spot on the floor where the powdered herb had fallen, although she dragged them quickly back to Luke. His blue eyes were unreadable. Fine. She could do this.

“How’d you clean it up?” Her tone was challenging, not at all embarrassed. Mara was proud of herself for the ease of it. 

“Very carefully.” Luke didn’t smile exactly, but his lips relaxed into something of a prelude to one.

Good. That gotten out of the way. Mara nodded at the mugs. “Caf?”

“Hot chocolate.” He took a step towards her, holding one out. “Made one for you too.”

She rolled her eyes, but accepted it two-handed, cautiously. The stoneware was warm between her fingers and it did smell good. “Someday you’ll grow up and drink adult beverages, Farmboy.”

He did smile then, a softness moving from his lips to his eyes. “You sound like Han.”

She feigned indignation and turned to go. “Hey, if you’re going to insult me…”

He stepped past her, and she was again grateful he hadn’t mentioned the robes she was wearing. “C’mon, let’s drink it in the common room.”

That stopped her. Mara had not planned to stay. No need to spend any more time in his presence than necessary, and this was not training. This was social, and she had no need for it…

But, she rationalized, she _would_ be able to talk to him a little about training. And how she could continue to practice away from the Academy. Maybe Luke would have some good ideas about improving her meditation techniques; that was something she was curious about. So she followed him, barefoot, into the small lounge. 

He settled into the corner of a two person sofa, sipping the steaming chocolate and placing it carefully on the low central table. Mara blew lightly on the surface of hers, still too hot, and sat in an overstuffed chair opposite, curling her legs under the robes. She didn’t want to set down the cup—the heat felt too good in her hands, and although she wouldn’t admit it, the smell of the chocolate was also too good to distance from her nose. 

She glanced up at Luke. He was looking at her, a somber tint to the blue of his eyes. She knew what he was going to say before he said it—his aura reeked of it. Mara wasn’t sure when she’d gotten so good at reading him, but it wasn’t like Luke was reflexively deceptive, either.

She took a cautious sip of the liquid, unsurprised at how delicious it was, but carefully controlling her pleasure at the taste. The man across from her already looked like he was about to burst, and thanking him for the hot chocolate would probably just embolden him.

Keeping her eyes glued to the mug between her fingers, she spoke first, voice low and firm.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Silence trailed her words. Mara refused to move her eyes from the dark brown drink, focusing on the slight movement of the liquid’s surface from the rise and fall of her breath. Resisting the urge to check his expression, she took another sip, studiously engaged in the act of drinking.

“So let's not talk about what happened.” She couldn’t exactly interpret his tone, but he sounded as serious as she had feared.

All right, then, Mara thought, taking another sip, the mug like a shield between them as she raised it to her lips, looking at Luke around its shape. Could it be that he wasn’t going to push the issue?

“Let's talk about what didn't happen.”

What could he possibly mean? Pretty much everything happened that could have happened, she thought, annoyed. Was this some bizarre criticism of how she dealt with being uncontrollably moved to fuck him? Swallowing, the heated liquid comfort in her belly, Mara found her voice, and with it, her confidence. Her eyes lifted, resigned to the intimacy inherent in meeting his look.

“Spoken like one of your famous cryptic Jedi Masters. What’s your point?”

He smiled a little, and it pissed her off.

“It’s not funny, Luke.”

The smile disappeared, and he looked abashed. “No, it’s not.”

He bent for his mug then. Apparently they both were finding courage in hot chocolate. Mara wondered if she could just stand up and get out of this, retreat. But she wouldn’t let him be stronger than her about the situation, and she wanted to be done with it. If some conversation full of platitudes and assurances was what he needed to move on, then she’d suffer through, at least as long as she could manage it.

Luke took a deep breath, the robe he was wearing parting over his chest, exposing a V of skin that made her suck in air and check her shields. Shit, this wasn’t going to be easy. She looked away again, as if removing the visual would also remove the electricity flitting across her nerves and gutting her insides. 

“What didn’t happen…” he started, waiting once more for her to meet his gaze, which she finally, painfully did, “…is we didn’t choose to…”

He paused, and Mara was glad for this proof of his uncertainty. She didn’t want it to be an easy conversation for him, either, if she had to sit through it. 

“…to start it,” he finished, searching her face for something, understanding or agreement, perhaps.

His phrasing had been considered and deliberate. She understood what Luke wasn’t saying as much as what he was. No, they hadn’t started it. But they also hadn’t stopped it. Could they have? She wasn’t sure. She knew that she hadn’t resisted—the thought had never occurred to her. 

Everything had seemed so obvious, so right, so inescapable. So perfect.

No, she hadn’t chosen to begin. But she _had_ chosen to continue. That was on her, she knew, the lake of guilt pooling in her chest expanding. Mara remembered well that frantic grab for the spilled herb, the way she’d thrust her fingers between Luke’s heated lips, desperate to keep whatever powerful physical rush she’d felt stronger than the climbing, surging torrent of emotion that threatened to overtake her. Her stomach twisted at the mental image the memory summoned.

But she said nothing, eyes implacably fixed to his, taking another sip of the hot chocolate. Already the mug was half empty.

Luke seemed to understand that she wasn’t going to contribute, and tried to explain again.

“I’m saying that we missed out…on that.”

The sentence didn’t quite make sense to her. Despite her conviction to stay silent, Mara felt words trying to leave her mouth. Her fingers tightened on the hot stoneware between them. She meant to keep her tone light, but her voice, when she answered, was strained, flat.

“ ‘Missed out?’ Because we ravished one another?”

Luke shook his head, damp hair falling in clumps against his brow, and he pushed it away. It had been a mistake to answer him, to engage, she could feel that. His energy grew stronger now, less hesitant.

“I’m talking about what we were _denied,_ Mara. Not what happened.” He stared at her, as if she should just understand by the sheer force of his scrutiny. “Robbed… of the moment.”

“What moment?” she scoffed. “There was no moment.”

“That’s my point,” he replied, voice laden with a gentle weight, a burden that she couldn’t fathom.

She had no answer for that, but her heart started to beat harder in her chest, apparently sensing something that her head hadn’t quite begun to comprehend. Where was he _going_ with this? What did he think could come of it?

Another slug of hot chocolate and when Luke spoke again, he sounded more relaxed, as if he were changing the subject.

“Do you remember your first kiss?”

“With you?” she managed a smirk. “Not really.” One of the biggest lies she’d told in her life, not that he would ever know. Of course she remembered, that frenzied lunge for him, that perfect pressure, the welcome heat of his mouth, the feel of his tongue against hers, along her teeth, her lips. She felt her stomach contract and drew her knees in closer to her chest like a barrier.

“Not with me, with anyone.” Luke wasn’t giving up. “That feeling, you know—anticipation, and nerves…and longing and want. Then that happiness, pleasure, relief, sort of completeness when…it’s realized.”

“Write a poem, Skywalker,” Mara answered, trying to ignore how unaccountably sad his words made her feel, how it was agonizing to launch a dismissive retort when confronted with such blatant sincerity.

And yes, she remembered…But perhaps unlike Luke, she remembered it better not due to his verbalization, but maybe because it seemed to her that he was the only man she’d ever known that had incited such things. Maybe that part she _shouldn’t_ remember, and didn’t want to think about now. Had she ever wanted anyone like him—a man like him, or with the same intensity and inevitability?

Mara blinked, suddenly furious at Luke for starting this conversation and wondering if it would be too dramatic to throw the dregs of her hot chocolate into his handsome face.

“I’m serious,” he went on evenly, ignoring her cynicism. “I’m just saying the only…” he paused again, reconsidered, rephrased. “I wanted that to be different.”

Mara had been so defensive she hadn’t really registered where he was going with all this and then, like a wave crashing over her head, she felt smothered by the revelation. Luke obviously wasn’t sure she understood though.

“A real first kiss,” he added, like she needed to hear that. And maybe she did. Mara looked at her knees.

“A real first kiss,” she echoed, the words making little sense until she voiced them. Her composure was not at all what she needed right now. 

She wanted to be smug and confident and immune, she needed to be strong and not thinking about the fact that Luke Skywalker had just said he had wanted a “real first kiss” with her, not some aphrodisiac-induced tonguefest. 

He said nothing. And she said nothing. The silence wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t as tense as she would have predicted, for a discussion of this kind. 

Quiet stretched across the table, contentedly bridging the wordless distance and stitching it together rather than dividing.

Mara straightened, smoothing the Jedi robes around her legs and meeting Luke’s blue eyes with her green.

“First kisses are overrated,” she finally said. “Awkward—a poor balance of lips and tongue. Later kisses are invariably better.” Luke’s eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, but he didn’t smile. “You’re just a hopeless romantic, and that’s why you think they’re important.”

“I’m a hopeless romantic?” Luke looked like he didn’t have a problem with the title, more like examining the epithet, or seeking confirmation.

“Written all over you.”

Stillness again. The conversation was definitely not what she’d expected, but maybe that would be the end of it?

Luke seemed to consider; she could almost hear him evaluating her comments in his mind. He was giving it too much thought.

“Your theory I'd buy about sex,” he admitted. “To get better with time, learning your partner…” Mara couldn’t help it, something surreal and erotic about what he was saying making her feel weak and her lung capacity insufficient. Luke continued, apparently oblivious to the effect of his words. “But I still think that the first kiss is not overhyped.”

She had to recover, had to stop this…

“Is this an attempt to seduce me, Skywalker?”

That seemed to halt his train of thought, thank the stars. 

But he wasn’t yielding, the wheels still turning in his brain. He opened his mouth to speak and Mara knew whatever he said, it would be a mistake.

“I don't—”

“You're too nice for me,” she interrupted before she could plan a defense. “You haven't figured that out yet?”

This was enough, she had to leave. It was already almost too much, past whatever she thought she could ignore or withstand. Mara set her empty mug down carefully on the floor, about to rise from the chair.

“No, I haven’t figured that out,” Luke said, something defensive in his tone. Mara closed her eyes briefly, made herself get to her feet, as he continued. “But I’m glad one of us understands what's going on.”

He stood as well, and there was something hurt in his look. She winced, without knowing she was doing it. He was trying…but what…how…

She attempted a smile, tried to make it normal again, worried at the expression in his eyes and the knowledge she’d put it there. But how to explain, withdraw, regroup?

“It’s a bad idea, Luke.”

He shook his head. “Baking with unknown ingredients was a bad idea. This…” He lifted a palm towards her, like he was asking a question.

She moved for the doorway, but Luke stepped in front of her, not wanting to let her avoid whatever the inevitable conclusion of this horrible conversation was going to be.

“What do you want then?” She was exasperated and close to some edge, nerves raw. “A do-over? Fuck me right this time?”

His tone almost matched hers. She wasn’t fooling him. “Mara…”

There was something about her name on his lips. It was too soft, too real. 

She shook her head, negating whatever he was going to say before he could try.

“I’m going to stop shielding,” Luke said quietly.

“Don’t.” The thought suddenly, irrationally terrified her.

“One of us has to.” He sounded so fucking reasonable.

“Don’t,” she repeated, trying to keep desperation from coloring the word.

“Why not?”

And she couldn’t come up with the words to explain, to tell him all the reasons why, so she deflected.

“I’m not going to just because you do it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, taking a step closer to her.

“Don’t.” Another step. “Please.” Shit.

“What are you afraid of?” His voice was low, kind, sincere. It was the voice of someone she trusted, someone she knew would never hurt her. And it was a very good question.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, feeling unbearably close to tears and frightened of her own thoughts, an unsettling rush of possibility overtaking her heart. Only this time she didn’t have a powdered drug to push away reality.

Luke was right in front of her, and he smelled so good. His hands, palms up, clasped hers, long fingers curling lightly around her skin. Mara’s conviction wavered, muscles uncooperative, thoughts dazed. Everything came rushing back at the contact—how he felt inside her, how his kisses tasted, how his arms felt around her. That insane, irrepressible thought she’d had about having him forever…

“Trust me,” he asked. He sounded so sure, so calm. Mara closed her eyes, biting back all sarcastic comments and barbs that she wanted to fling at him, to stop this glittering, tempting request in its tracks and push him so far away that the distance between them would become insurmountable. 

He could sense her dismay, her conflict. “Trust me,” Luke said again.

“I can’t…”

She wasn’t saying she couldn’t trust him—and he knew that, she was certain. She was saying she couldn’t offer him the same openness, she couldn’t reciprocate, didn’t even know where to start.

She expected Luke to drop his shields anyway, no matter her request, and braced herself. Tension froze her muscles, fingers turning white-knuckled and viselike on his hands. Mara squeezed her eyes shut tighter, her pulse pounding.

But he didn’t. She should have known he wouldn’t, couldn’t deny her request not to, no matter how much he wanted her to understand and know how he felt. Luke simply stood before her, withstanding the death grip on his fingers, calm and patient as she fought to get her breathing under control and struggled to steady her heart, pounding relentlessly to escape her ribcage. His acceptance of her limits was anchoring. Maybe her self-denial was proof of her own foolishness, but it was already clear he wasn’t judging her for it.

Finally she opened her eyes. Embarrassment and anger fought for dominance, along with blame. This was his fault. Why was he pushing her? Even as she thought it, she recognized the injustice of her assessment. His eyes were clear, not shaded by insistence.

“Why?” she asked, confused, not even sure of the question. Why hadn’t he dropped his guard? Why was he standing here with her?

“You know why,” he answered, and she did, but that didn’t help still the very real pain in her chest.

“That’s not an answer,” she remarked, starting to feel more like herself, equilibrium returning slowly to her limbs.

He smiled slightly. “Your question wasn’t exactly specific, you know.”

And he was right, so there was nothing to say. Mara was abruptly aware of her hands still in his and she looked down at them, deliberately, slowly relaxing each joint, watching the color return to them. Luke’s thumb rested lightly atop each.

“Right,” she breathed, pulling her hands away, relieved that he was going to let her escape this. A shadow crossed his eyes, and he said nothing, his disappointment tangible in the air, something she didn’t need the Force to feel.

Luke turned away then, stepping over to her chair and scooping up first her empty mug, then his own and walking towards the door, no doubt headed back to the kitchen.

She expected him to say something, a normal “good night” or any of the hundreds of take your leave phrases standard in Basic. So when he disappeared without another word, Mara felt it like a slap, and couldn’t blame him for it. She knew he would never deliberately hurt her, but she had hurt him, that much was obvious.

The cold comfort in that realization was that Luke deserved better. Someone who wouldn’t ever hurt him, who he could trust with his feelings. A partner who welcomed the openness he offered instead of fighting it. 

Clearly that wasn’t her, and she’d done him a favor by making it explicit. 

A chill travelled from her scalp to her spine, disgust at herself threatening to consume her. For a moment she’d felt something…wrong. Dark. Mara’s eyes searched the common room once more, as if expecting to see a ghost. 

Biting her lip, she forced herself back to the present and then walked quickly back to her quarters.


	3. Just Desserts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta [frangipani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani/works) who makes everything better even when I bitch about it.
> 
> Extra thanks this time also to [JediMordsith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith) for a bonus beta and kicking me outta my funk and [JadeDjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeDjo/pseuds/JadeDjo) for the encouragement!!!! <3 <3 <3

Of course she couldn’t sleep. Her skin felt thin and fragile, the rushing blood unable to heat her chilled extremities. Mara had showered for what felt like hours, but it hadn’t been long enough to carry her body forward to exhaustion. Meditation repudiated her. She lay in bed, willing her mind empty, and failing.

Luke stayed away.

She hadn’t really expected him to seek her out, not after what she’d done—or hadn’t done. What she’d refused to accept. Real life wasn’t a holofilm where the noble romantic lead instinctively knew when to rescue the fair maiden from her own idiocy. And Mara wasn’t blind or kidding herself. She knew that whatever despondency she was feeling now, on this hard mattress between coarse sheets, it was the result of her own fear and inaction.

She’d denied him. Denied herself. Pretended she didn’t want what they both clearly wanted. Luke had been open and trusting, and she’d blunted his intention with juvenile retorts and cowardice. She had ignored and isolated all promise and possibility, discarding its value—offering a remuneration of lies for his integrity. Luke had been fearless, assumed all the risk, and asked her for nothing except faith in him.

And she had that faith in _him;_ she had only refused to acknowledge it. It was faith in _herself_ that was lacking. 

She’d never felt so wretched. So heartless. Such a fool.

Mara screwed her eyes shut, begging her consciousness to dissolve into sleep. She shivered, traitorous memory retaliating against her temperature with thoughts of his heat—fingers, lips, tongue, cock. Sweat and sugar against her mouth, simultaneously hard and yielding. Her body responded with an undeniable pull, emanating from her core, low in her stomach, refuting logic and dismantling resolve.

She wanted him. Wanted to ask if any of it were truly possible, hear assurance that none of this was the outrageous fantasy it seemed. Wanted him to take her and kiss her with that promised happiness, pleasure, relief, and sense of completeness he’d detailed so convincingly—words she’d memorized as soon as he had listed them, with that naïve candor that was so simultaneously charming and frustrating.

She wanted to believe that she could be what he deserved. 

Shit.

The longer Mara lay in the darkness, the more crazed she felt. What was Luke doing? Sleeping? Thinking? Wondering about her? 

Luke knew she was lying, he _had_ to; that was the worst part of this. After all, what had possessed her to stay? Everything would have been simpler if she’d just fled after the cake debacle, writing it off as a blameless mistake, and letting time impart the emotional distance necessary to maintain their friendship. Relationship. Whatever it was.

So what kept her here? She could leave now, if she wanted, find solace in voluntary exile. She had a ship, and she didn’t really have a schedule. Karrde wasn’t expecting her for another week.

Abandoning the concept of rest, Mara sat up, feet hitting the cool floor. 

She shouldn’t stay. She’d refused to consider the potential for something more with Luke. And any possibility that may have existed, she’d willfully destroyed. She had felt the loss this afternoon like a slow bleed. Now, it had eroded to become a hemorrhaging tide of regret. Mara had never confronted anything like what she was feeling now. She had always been able to disguise self-loathing as anger, dignify her taunts as strength. But Luke saw through that. Examined her, somehow understood her, and still loved her.

Mara let her eyes fall shut again. She wouldn’t…

Yet the acknowledgement crowed triumphantly, incessantly, once she’d allowed it voice. He loved her…

…He was in love with her.

She couldn’t shake it, the idea possessing her, deafening all else. The terror she’d felt earlier splintered. But Mara had spent her entire life mastering the art of emotional camouflage, and now wasn’t even certain she knew how to be seen.

Her respiration rasped, air leaving her lungs in jagged bursts. Mara frantically searched for stability in the darkness. Her hands were shaking as she grasped the bedclothes, making balls of the sheets against her palms. She drew upon the Force to center herself, as Luke had taught her. An unconscious prayer for aid. Almost immediately, denial loosened its hold, slipping from her heart, leaving a bewildering truth in its place.

She was in love with him.

Completely, hopelessly, madly, all those stupid poetic words applied, she realized with wonder.

Mara stood, reaching automatically for the Jedi robe where she had left it. Cruel hesitation, armed and made bold with doubt, tried to infiltrate her conviction. But she met its advance, and counterattacked with truth.

Yes, she had hurt him. 

She had felt his disappointment like a self-inflicted wound. 

And she would never do that again.

The mental vow made her chest tight, even as she pushed away approaching memories. Once her life’s goal had been to snuff his out, but that was so distant and foreign it no longer felt relevant, not significant enough for inclusion in their present. What mattered was she understood the stakes, the consequences now. She wasn’t going to run away.

She tugged the robe around her and moved swiftly towards the door. Mara didn’t know exactly what she intended, but she trusted the newly accepted emotion driving her into the hallway the same way she trusted the man who’d inspired it.

The stone corridor seemed endless. Mara took wide strides, her energy chaotic and unfocused, heart full. She didn’t know what she was projecting, or what he sensed, but the door to his room opened as she neared it.

Luke stood to one side of the threshold, wearing the same austere robe as earlier, hair mussed, expression undimmed by sleep. She hadn’t woken him.

Mara walked without a word into the small entryway, trying not to contemplate the cautious look in those pure blue eyes, meeting the confusion there with what she hoped was certainty.

“Mara—”

She shook her head, not wanting to give him an opportunity to make her reconsider what she had decided. “Give me your hands.”

Unquestioning at the command, Luke stepped before her and held them out, exactly as he had earlier, palms up. She rested her own hands quickly over them, and his fingers loosely bent around hers. His face was indecipherable, jaw set and neck tense. He had shaved, a small cut just below his right cheekbone, evidence of a distracted slip of the blade.

Mara glanced down at the clasp of hands, not sure why she felt the action necessary, only that it was the way he had intended for it to be, earlier. Her breath caught halfway between lungs and lips, a tight ball of air that seemed to harbor the last remnant of her uncertainty. It swelled and burned in her throat, until she pulled determined eyes up to his. He’d never turned her away, never refused her, but she’d never asked for anything like this. The caution she’d noticed in the doorway had been replaced with another kind of tension. Luke studied her, silent, head tilted as if he had asked a question and was still awaiting a response. 

Mara exhaled at last, a broken, uneven sound. Her eyes rounded as she held his gaze, trying to match his openness, channel the strength she sensed. Luke gave so much of himself unthinkingly, recklessly. To the New Republic, his students, his family, even to the helpless creatures of this moon. Would he do the same with her? She’d never believed she could be like him, never imagined giving herself to someone could be so real and necessary. But what if his love wasn’t her love? A different brand, not matched in origin, depth or intent? Mara swallowed, feeling the blood pounding at her temples, her mouth dry. If this was a mistake, better to lose completely and never recover rather than hate herself for failure to try. She’d had enough of being a coward when it came to him.

She dropped her shields.

For a moment, she wondered who was supporting who, both unbalanced by the strength of her emotion. His fingers closed tighter on hers, pulses throbbing in tandem. Everything that had lived inside her had been guarded by mirrors, protected by self-perpetuating insulation. Now all shattered as one, this exposed devotion destroying all artifice. Mara locked her knees for stability as she suffered a weakening rush, a sense of lightness. She hung onto Luke’s fingers as if he let go she would collapse.

Mara trembled as the Force indiscriminately transmitted every feeling, every doubt, every hope she hadn’t dared to admit, even to herself. It was an empathic mess, a flood of uncoordinated, unrefined dreams. They were as new to her as him, these feelings that didn’t so much stream as crash into their joint perception, uncovering every last hidden place inside her. 

What would Luke determine from her turbulent reveal? How could he understand what he meant to her, if she had only just figured it out? What if he couldn’t see her as she so needed to be seen? 

Was she making the worst mistake of her life? 

Her muscles felt cramped, her throat too narrow for breath to escape. Mara gasped, trying desperately to anchor herself to the man across from her. He now had access to every part of her, secrets and shame, aspirations and longing. Still Luke’s touch remained, as always, grounding, centering, skin warm, hands bracing. It wasn’t a touch she could run from. It was a touch she wanted to encourage, sustain, and live for.

Mara surrendered. To him. For him. No one had ever been allowed this much of her. But words couldn’t contain what she needed to say; this was all she had. She had stripped herself bare, layer after layer of timeworn armor removed and discarded until all that was left was the truth of her love. The air around them gusted, suffused with promise and commitment, and desire too, debilitating and raw, completely unfiltered and shameless, with Luke unmistakably as its focus.

Luke stared at her, transfixed. His eyes glowed, light-infused, no longer questioning. He stood so still she thought he’d forgotten to breathe, smothered by the strength of her disclosure. It still swirled, this energy she’d released—an undiluted catalyst combining with the Force. The power didn’t diminish, but gradually became controllable, its potency less destabilizing.

His gaze was knowing and unwavering, impossibly full of the reciprocal emotion. Something was stinging behind her eyes, and Mara almost tugged a hand free to deal with it, resisting the impulse. Luke felt her slight movement, the first it seemed either of them had moved in ages. He squeezed her hands once, briefly, still holding them. She relaxed, her fingers sinking deeper into his, if that were possible.

“Ready?” he asked, the word full of something intoxicating and joyful. 

“Ready,” she answered, having no idea what she was agreeing to.

He smiled then, and his shields disappeared.

Luke’s feelings were less complicated than hers, or maybe he was just better at transmitting—the depth of his love stark and blazing. Mara wasn’t prepared for this dazzling storm, hadn’t imagined how strong it could be. She wondered fleetingly if her emotions had felt as bright and blinding to him, somehow knowing they had. Their love was the same. That was his guarantee. 

Mara staggered, and Luke steadied her, letting go of her hands and pulling her against his chest into a saving embrace. His arms circled her shoulders, wrapped hard around her muscles. Mara’s hands followed the planes of his back, resting her face against him, feeling the press of his solid body along hers.

The Force eddied around and between them, and Luke drew her even closer. Her hands bunched in his robe and Mara looked up to meet his gaze.

No one had ever looked at her the way Luke was looking at her now; there was belief in his eyes. He raised a hand to her cheek, a calloused thumb drifting over her lips, examining her mouth like he was plotting a course through hyperspace. She knew he was going to kiss her, and both of them were remembering the earlier conversation as they stayed in tableau for several heartbeats.

“Performance anxiety, Skywalker?” She smiled slowly; the tease held no bite.

He smiled back. “Anticipation, remember? I’m building up to it.”

Mara’s mouth formed a little moue, pressing against his finger. “Overrated.”

“Not this time.”

Luke’s thumb left her lips as he bent his head, stopping at the last possible moment in front of her mouth. Mara kept still, feeling his breath against hers, enjoying the exhilaration of being in his arms and this deliberate, slow engagement of her senses. 

It was the opposite of the kitchen, the cake and the herb. There was no question they wanted this, approaching it unhurriedly, with every opportunity to stop, to turn away, to redirect. His lips stayed so close, hovering. And Mara waited, until she couldn’t anymore, crossing the last fraction of space to press her mouth to his, to feel the softness of him, that warm welcoming heat she remembered so perfectly despite her earlier lie to the contrary.

The kiss was sweet and sure, then Luke’s mouth opened her lips, deepening it, teasing her tongue and increasing the pressure. Thus reborn, this kiss was alive, moving, shifting, evolving as they explored and breathed through it. It flourished and grew into something urgent and demanding as they uncovered and revealed one another through lips and tongue.

And it was better than before, this second first kiss. It was a different thing, to be consumed by appetite of their own volition, nothing artificial serving as an incentive to surrender.

Mara’s hands traced a path around his waist, sliding up Luke’s chest and opening the front of his robe. This freedom—the ability to touch him like this—felt like a reward. The clarity in her mind now, the elation sparkling across her thoughts, was the perfect counterpoint to the muddled frenzy of what had come before. He still tasted like sunlight, Mara realized, the touch of his hands and lips weaving a mosaic of sweetness across her body she thought she could drown in.

“Sunlight?” Luke whispered with a grin, placing another kiss firmly on her lips.

“Stop that or I’m shielding again,” she sighed into his mouth.

“Hopeless romantic,” he murmured, and Mara reprimanded him with a small bite of his lower lip, tugging it between her teeth.

His hands now mirrored her movements, pushing coarse material from her shoulders, the glide of his rough fingers on her bare skin bringing an excess of feeling that Mara couldn’t contain. Their lips parted for the second time, both fixed in a smile, and he trailed kisses from her chin, down the line of her neck to her breastbone. Mara threaded her hands in his hair, directing him as he licked his way to one stiff nipple, closing his lips on it briefly before kissing the other, then moving back to her mouth. Luke’s hands moved up, feeling the swell of her breasts as she bowed into him. She shoved his robe to the floor. They moved, artless, unseeing, fingers roaming, lips locked, to the bed.

Luke moved above her, and Mara thought there was no better feeling than the weight of him. It was already familiar. The experience of being with him completely unshielded, completely naked, felt like the most natural thing in the world. His Force presence, his energy, was never so potent or intense as it was now, but it didn’t loom, it enveloped, laced through hers, combining and fortifying. Mara’s eyes opened as she felt his body shift, one leg between her thighs. He pressed against her, reverent but purposeful, as their mouths stayed fixed and joined and necessary.

She could feel his rigid cock against her warm skin, was sure he could feel her ready and wet, but their kisses continued.

His fingers travelled to hers, knitting hands together, and Luke settled deeper, more comfortably. He rested on top of her, pulling briefly away from her lips. His eyes were solemn.

“I love you.” The declaration was needless, given what he’d already shown her, but Mara found the words melted any residual disbelief that had lain dormant in her deepest heart.

It was beyond imagining, but also beyond question. 

She kissed him again, hard, overwhelmed by the moment. She studied the look on Luke’s face and tried to record the sight in her memory.

“It seems impossible to love anyone as much as you love me.” Her voice was tinged with something weak, a bit of awe, maybe, the observation more rhetorical than skeptical.

Luke’s eyes lit up, his face split in a grin. “How’s it feel to disprove your own theory?”

It took her a minute to follow, and then she gave a small sigh. “Cute.” Mara ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, enjoying the feel of it, watching the strands fall from between her knuckles. “Yes, I love you too.” Luke’s eyes stayed on her face, and she smiled absently, smoothing his eyebrow, remembering that adorable smudge of flour. “You knew.”

It wasn’t a question, but Luke’s eyes softened and he moved his head ever so slowly to negate her assertion, as if he didn’t want to lose the feel of her fingers against his face.

“I didn’t know.” His eyes seemed to dim just a moment, then one corner of his mouth turned up, just the suggestion of a smile. “I hoped.”

She felt a crest of affection, as strong as it was unfamiliar, rise inside her breast. Mara surrendered to it, sealing his lips with hers.

Their kisses remained deep, their movements even more considered. There was nothing tentative, nothing in doubt as their positions shifted, Mara sliding from beneath Luke as he rolled onto his back. She straddled his hips, glad the lights were on and she could take her time to appreciate him. Without shields, her desire flowed unchecked, along with the memory of how he looked baking, sparring, in the jungle, in the common room. A faint blush appeared on Luke’s cheeks and she laughed.

His cock was straining against her now, as Mara glided her hands from his muscled stomach up his ribs, sternum, over to his shoulders, down the line of the biceps defining his arms, over to his wrists. Luke’s eyes followed her tactile voyage, mesmerized, breaths coming deep and uneven.

Her index fingers traced the blue lines of the veins, the invisible seam of his prosthetic, back up the forearms to the crease of his triceps as she gently raised his arms to explore further. She adored the lean symmetry of him and wanted to savor every discovery. Her touch mapped the rise and dip of his collarbones, the arc of his neck, the angles of his jaw, the delicate lines around his lips and eyes. Lightly, she trailed across the network of gossamer scars that marked his bronzed skin. 

Like her, Luke had been branded by life. In the future, together, stronger, would they share in more triumphs and suffer less evidence of defeat? Mara felt an intense ache in her chest, the desire to stand with him both painful and potent. She bent down and kissed along the translucent laceries, promising not just her heart, but her blade, her blaster, her violence to protect him.

For the first time in her life, Mara thought of Love not as a weakness, but as a power—the weapon that had saved him.

Keeping her eyes fixed to his, Mara settled her hands on his chest and lifted her hips. Without pause, she took him inside herself. She was slick and far past ready. Luke watched her start to move along the length of his cock, admiring as she bent down to lick the hollows of his throat. Her teeth scraped the curves of his skin up to his lips as she settled there, her hips rising and falling as Luke pulled her lower, horizontal, folding her against his chest.

They moved together, unguarded and uninhibited, as the Force wound a primal, mystical tapestry in the air. Its power fed on and heightened their passion. Mara moaned into Luke’s mouth as his cock slipped into a better angle, his body adjusting to elicit the perfect reaction from hers. She rode him harder, straightening. Her hands pressed into the mattress alongside his forehead, his fingers moving lower to urge her on as she followed the whole of him to her deepest, most aching point, and out again. He massaged her clit as she pressed against his hand, gasping and undone. 

Luke seemed instinctively fluent in the language of her body, with nothing left hidden or private from the strength of their bond. They were as close as they could possibly be, but Mara wanted to be even more connected, taking him as far inside as she could. Not just cock and hand and lips and tongue, but essence and being. The sensation wrapping her in pleasure was so similar to the desperation to be joined to him from before, she wondered distantly if any of that had truly been only the herb’s influence.

“Luke,” she whispered between kisses. Voicing his name seemed like a part of this ritual, something mysterious and sacrosanct.

His kissed reply held a dizzying energy that tasted like truth on her tongue. Luke began to thrust up as she fell down against him, the motion as delicious as it was excruciating. Mara’s thoughts mingled with Luke’s—the heady collision of feeling no longer tied to individual identities. What he felt, she felt, with the Force, with her soul. Everything was too bright, her eyes blurred by an inexplicable luster that revealed the man beneath her as something brilliant and flawless. Luke was transformed, as was she. Mara felt a complex blend of gratitude and grace as she realized nothing would ever be the same.

Mara braced herself as Luke drove harder inside her, still keeping her tight against his body. Their mouths met with clear intention now, a destination approaching, the pressure of lips and tongues urging them onward. Mara groaned at the stretch of his cock inside her walls, his fingers trapped between their bodies, pressure building and combusting as she cried out. Luke jerked and twisted when she did, experiencing her orgasm through the Force as Mara came atop him. She shuddered, the waves of her climax pushing her even deeper onto his cock. The rush of pleasure merged and multiplied between them, driving Luke after her into that all too brief oblivion. She felt him start to fight for control, to hold off, but a long, drawn out breath signaled his surrender. He gripped her ass and came inside her with a slow, final thrust to her center.

Mara kissed him, hard, her tongue outlining his lips as he stayed inside her, both of them in no hurry to separate. She rested, content, atop him, enjoying the look on his face, the love in his eyes.

Luke raised a hand and cupped her cheek, his thumb gliding under her damp eyelashes. She leaned into his touch, feeling a contentment unlike anything she’d believed possible. He lifted his neck and kissed her, and she thought she’d never get tired of the feel of his lips against hers. She knew he could sense her happiness, just as she sensed his utter satisfaction.

Mara gave him another kiss and rolled to the side. Luke didn’t let her get far, already pulling her back against him. She sighed, wondering if she could just fall asleep in his arms.

“Why not?” he whispered into her neck, using the Force to turn off the lights.

She snuggled deeper as Luke pulled the covers over them and they settled back, sharing his pillow. Just before drifting off, Mara’s eyes snapped open. Luke felt the change, tightened his arms around her.

“Whatever happened to your anniversary present? Corrupt Cake.”

He yawned, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he replied. 

“ _Corrupted_ Cake. Leia loved it. Han said it was inedible.”

Mara laughed and Luke kissed her temple.

“Who do you believe?”

“Both of them.” Now it was his turn to laugh. “I’ll make us another one, if you want.”

Mara turned her head to find another place to kiss him, settling for the underside of his chin. “No thanks.”

“Sunlight tastes better than sugar?” Luke asked innocently.

Mara’s teeth replaced her lips against his throat.

Maybe she would kill him after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sonnet from Mara Jade to Luke skywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981702) by [MariahJade2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariahJade2/pseuds/MariahJade2)




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